


you been givin' me that line so many times (that kinda lovin')

by stepquietly



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Awkwardness, M/M, Mild D/s, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pornstars, Shameless Smut, What Have I Done, mild voyeurism kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepquietly/pseuds/stepquietly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn’s supposed to be aspirational, right? Like, good-looking people getting it on in fantastic scenarios, right? Granted this is Taylor’s first hardcore shoot, but all his softcore shit had been about being taken nice places and some slow making out on fake-fur rugs with wailing saxophone solos dubbed in, so he’d sort of figured this would be like that.  Except without the miracle of pants and maybe with lots of lube.</p><p>AKA The pornstars AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you been givin' me that line so many times (that kinda lovin')

Taylor may not have been in the business long but even he knows that this is bullshit.

"The fuck, man? What, set designers couldn't get anything beyond two framed jerseys and a sofa to make this set? Budget that low these days?" Sure he sounds like a diva, but the basement they’re filming in looks nothing like the vaguely fancy apartment he’s been led to expect, and a lot more like the shitty student flats he currently lives in. Porn’s supposed to be aspirational, right? Like, good-looking people getting it on in fantastic scenarios, right? Granted this is Taylor’s first hardcore shoot, but all his softcore shit had been about being taken nice places and some slow making out on fake-fur rugs with wailing saxophone solos dubbed in, so he’d sort of figured this would be like that. Except without the miracle of pants and maybe with lots of lube.

But maybe not, man. Maybe all that extra money he gets paid for letting them see his, his, you know, package, comes from stripping the sets and not from all the extra cash people might pay for his ass on their screen. So, yeah, weird.

Eakins slants him an annoyed look from where he’s getting Darnell to set up the camera, and whoops, Taylor probably should have checked whether the new director was on set first before he started grumbling about the quality of the production. But really, three pieces to set a tone? They couldn’t have put down a rug, or had an end-table, or a sofa throw; _something_ to make this seem less like a rented basement?

“Just… this is supposed to be my place, right? I mean, if I lived here, I’d have more than this.” Taylor feels a bit defensive on this point – his character is not a serial killer, and seriously, people who live in places tend to buy furniture for them, right? - but Eakins just snorts and yells at the lighting guys, so clearly no one is going to listen to the new guy on this one.

Well, and also porn isn't about Taylor's authentic characterisation. So yeah, whatever. 

Everyone’s ignoring him and Taylor feels a little lost. He looks around and catches the camera guy’s eye, sees Darnell duck his head a little and throw him this sweet grin while he adjusts the cameras lens. Taylor grins back reflexively cause Darnell’s new but he seems nice, looks like he knows what he’s doing over there. And also maybe because the one thing you do not do in this business is piss off your camera guy. The camera guy’s gotta love you so his camera can love you. Them’s the rules.

He’s basically standing there grinning at Darnell like an idiot when Ebs comes up behind him and slaps his ass, slings an arm around Taylor’s neck and muscles him around into a noogie.

“What’s this I hear about you making trouble? " Taylor's face squishes into Ebs' armpit, and Ebs is warm and hard where he presses up against Taylor’s side. Taylor squirms free, mumbles “Nah, man” and awkwardly tries not to look directly at Ebs. Ebs, who is his co-star in this little endeavour they’ve signed on to do.

It’s ridiculous, the most clichéd gay porn plot ever. See, Taylor plays the preppy student with car trouble who meets Ebs, sexy grease-stained mechanic, and gets a little more than his engine turned over. The film is going to be called ‘Oil Change’ – which, really? – and is going have a still from yesterday’s shoot at the fake garage on the cover; the one where Taylor's splayed out on the hood of the car, Ebs holding him down with one hand, the movie’s cheesiest line “want me to give you a ride?” as its tag-line. Oh man, it’s so ridiculous.

Taylor’s pretty okay with the shoddy plot though: it’s porn, man. He didn’t get into this business to change lives with his acting, even if he still cares just a little about characterisation. He’s done enough soft-core to know how to angle his body so the light shows him off, knows how to look into the camera so they can see how his eyes are slitted while not also being forced to look up his nose.

So he can’t figure out why doing this with Ebs is so weird but it just is. It makes him nervous and a little nauseous, and yesterday when Ebs had cupped his face right and told him how he kisses _like he is just dying to get fucked_ , Taylor had gone hot and cold all over and needed to call a break so he could go stare at a wall until the urge to jizz in his freaking pants passed.

So yeah. It could be that Taylor’s sublimating some of his nervousness over having to strip down to his birthday suit and get it on with Ebs onto the serial-killer basement set. Shut up. This is like one piece of furniture and two frames on a wall and that's like less than bare minimum surely; it’s hardly fucking realistic. Fuck. Fuck.

Taylor's not hyperventilating. Shit, maybe some of this is also Taylor having a panic attack about the fact that today’s shoot doesn’t really have a script so much as a general outline of how to get from point a to point cock-in-ass. Ebs’ cock in his ass. _Ebs’_ cock in _his_ ass. Okay, okay, he is hyperventilating, no biggie.

“Hey, you okay, man?” Ebs looks concerned, and Taylor guesses that he’s either really flushed or really pale right now because he can’t feel his lips, and also he’s wheezing and folding under Ebs’ arm.

“Fine, fine” he chokes out, embarrassed. He waves everyone away and escapes to find the nearest bathroom, locks himself in -ostensibly to have a shower and you know, be clean for the whole upcoming scenario, but really so he can sit on the toilet and stare at the tile between his feet until the urge to throw up goes away.

When he feels better - or at least put together enough to fake better - he splashes water on his face and looks at himself sternly in the mirror. There's a knock on the door - "Fifteen minutes to set up, Hall" - and Taylor is just going to have to do this thing somehow because he needs money for rent, and food, and all the drinking he’s going to need to do to wipe this forever from his memory once it’s done. He ducks into the shower and scrubs himself as quickly as he can.

"You can do this," he informs his naked, wet, pasty-faced reflection after he's done. "You? Are a sexy beast. Any man would be lucky to put his cock in you.” He points vehemently at his reflection and then the door “Now, You're gonna go out there to that shoddily decorated set and you're gonna work what those four hours in a gym give you. That's right. Ebs won’t know what hit him. Yeah. Awesome. Yeah." Oh man, this isn't really working. He's nervous and panicking and shit, shit, his dick won't work. _Holy fuck, what if his dick doesn't work_?

Taylor panics and immediately starts thinking of the hottest things he can imagine - Ebsy's abs, that chick at the club last week, that fantastic ad for the new Wii upgrade that was totally gonna make kicking ass at golf excellent (wait, this is wrong, but hey look, it's working) - and somehow he’s he's finally getting hard and Taylor's out the door and heading on set before he spooks his erection away with another attack of nerves.

He speed-walks his way over to the couch while he works really hard on not thinking about how his dick is sort of pointed out there, waving about in everyone's faces. Of course this is when he realises that he realises that he doesn’t need to be hard since they’re not shooting yet and yeah, that's awkward. Shit, Taylor is _so bad_ at this. It’s ten times worse than when he was in the bathroom just thinking that his dick might not work because now everyone can see how hard he is. And despite how fucked up the whole situation is, he can’t seem to get his erection to go _down_.

Taylor flushes. He can’t look down cause it’ll seem like he’s staring at his cock. And he can’t look over because then he’ll be looking at people while he's hard. So he basically stares off to the side and feels awkward, and wishes really, really hard that he’d just stuck to the softcore shoots because then he’d be wearing a lot more clothes and also not worrying about his dick.

He’s just standing by the couch - while Eakins and about four assistants that Taylor can't really think about drone endlessly on about where the light falls and who’s going to be getting up close with which handheld camera for the money shot – when Ryan waves him over to a small portable table set up in the corner.

Taylor walks over and tries really hard to ignore the fact that his dick is basically pointing right at Ryan, waving like it’s saying hello. Ryan looks him straight in the eyes though, smiles really sweetly and says, “we’d better get you ready, huh? I think they’re going to need you in a couple of minutes.”

And Taylor’s still parsing this – because it hasn’t quite hit him what Ryan means yet – when Ryan carefully pushes on his shoulder so that he’s bent over the table. Ryan holds him there absent-mindedly with one elbow while he pulls on a glove from the box on the table. And now that Taylor’s looking the table is absolutely covered with sex stuff – gloves, lots of different kind of condoms and lube, a couple of cock rings, a medium size dildo – and they’re all spread out a couple of inches from his chest.

It stuns him, so he doesn’t even notice Ryan squirting lube onto his gloved fingers, though he does feel the sudden cold of it when Ryan’s got a finger in his ass – straight in, no messing around – just clinically smooshing the lube in there. At some point Ryan starts up with a bit of a monologue about Miami Heat and whether or not they’re going to take the Lakers this year, and now there’s two fingers pushing in and scissoring in Taylor’s ass, so maybe he can be forgiven for not caring about how the Lakers are “really, really not meant to be the kings of the court, you know?”

Taylor nods whenever he thinks it’s appropriate – because it’s polite to at least pretend to listen to the guy that’s prepping your ass for your first filmed assfucking – and Ryan doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong at all, which is... great? Strange? Ugh, Taylor doesn't know.

Ryan starts stroke Taylor’s cock with his other hand, and Taylor works really hard not to whine into his fists because this is weird, so weird, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he’s trying to grind back and forth to Ryan’s rather clinical fingering and handjob, out there in the open where anyone on set can see him opened up and made ready, stretching around Ryan’s fingers and pushing into his fist.

"Yeah, that's why they're gonna beat the Lakers someday," Ryan informs him, smiling guilelessly, before he leans back and whips off his gloves. Taylor stays bent over because he’s not sure how he’s supposed to – what he’s supposed to –

Ryan pats Taylor absently, as if totally unaware of how Taylor flushes, hips still jerking minutely, and maybe pants a little with terror.

"Yeah, you're all set, man" Ryan says, and walks off. Taylor stays draped over the table for a little bit, breathes hard, until one of the set guys comes over and hustles Taylor out onto the set. They dress him in the clothes he had on in the early scenes – for continuity’s sake – and push him onto the couch where Ebs is already waiting for him, grinning like an ass.

Ebs has on the terrible fake earring and leather jacket of his mechanic character, and his white singlet is artistically smeared with grease for extra authenticity. He's looks... not like a mechanic, but good; Taylor thinks he looks good.

Taylor can see that Ebs' nipples are raised where they push against the material. He wonders if Ebs knows how Taylor’s been stretched open and left slick, wonders if he _watched_. Taylor squirms. He needs to stop thinking about this stuff because it’s not helping him calm down and at this rate he’s going to shoot long before he’s supposed to.

Instead, he breathes deeply, ignores the musky smell of Ebs’ cologne and focuses on the give of the sofa under him. Ebs leans over, brackets Taylor between the cushions and the curve of Ebs’ body. The lighting guys move around them and Taylor looks anywhere but at Ebs’ face or at the camera over his shoulder. He looks into middle distance like his acting coach had suggested way back when Taylor had been willing to pay for someone to teach him stuff, attempts to unfocus his eyes so he’s not really seeing how there’s a whole bunch of people watching Ebs pin him down.

Then Eakins yells "roll em" and Ebs surges into Taylor's space, knocks him back and latches on to his neck. He sucks hard, hard, like he wants to bite down and bruise. And Taylor maybe has some trouble breathing still because fuck, fuck, this is really happening, and Ebs is hurting him just right, just on the edge of too much. Someone makes a really shockingly loud whimpering sound like they’re about to start wailing, and Taylor sucks in a wet gasp when he figures out that it’s him.

Ebs’ hands are big on Taylor's hips and everyone is watching them. They watch Taylor push into Ebs’ body, see him fumble Ebs’ coat off, drag his singlet up fast so he can latch on to one of Ebs’ nipples, can pull it between his teeth and suck hard – “ _Shit_ , Hallsy, like that” – see him get his hands on Ebs’ shoulders and pull himself up so he can push his face into the curve of his neck.

Ebs holds Taylor down so he can grind into the cradle of his hips, and Taylor keens high and gasping, face angled so that the camera can’t see how this takes him apart - "Hall, try to move your face; we can't get the shot right", Eakins calls out - and no, no, he wants this to stop, he can't stop, he wants, he wants, Ebs, Ebby, Ebs...

"Hey, hey, Hallsy. Babe? Babe, calm down for me." Ebs' hands are on his face and he whispers soft into his ear, hides him from the others while Taylor gulps and gets himself under control, "you got this. You got this, doing so good for me. You're gonna be so good for me and show everyone who watches this how much you love it, right? You're gonna show me and then them, aren't you baby? You're gonna let me fill you up, right Hallsy?"

And Taylor whimpers "yeah, yeah" with his eyes wide open. Cause he will, he can.

His mouth just falls open under the smallest pressure from Ebs’ fingers, no hesitance or resistance at all. Taylor sucks at the fingers before Ebs groans and leans down to kiss him. It’s all wet and slick and good – so, so good – Taylor can’t stop begging, “I need – you gotta give me –put, put, uh -” and Ebs kisses him silent, whispers “I’m going to, babe, you just wait for me.”

Ebs unbuttons Taylor’s shirt, and Taylor can’t stop staring at Ebs. He only stares past him when Ebs swoops down to bite at the curve of his pec and pull open his button down, Taylor's gaze glassy-eyed and straight into the camera with his mouth swollen and open, gasps.

Ebs pushes him around and all Taylor can think is that he wants more, wants to show everyone how good he can be at this, strips obediently when the instructions are called – both Ebs and he stop touching briefly to yank off the last of their clothes, Ebs smoothes a condom on – and Taylor angles himself so they can all see how he's wet and opened up already, like he went to that garage just to get cock, went to get Ebs to come home and fuck him like he needs it.

"You're doing good, baby" Ebs informs him. Then he gently forces Taylor off the sofa and down to between his knees, keeps him there so Taylor can stretch his neck and mouth at the head of Ebs' cock.

The cameras catch everything – “go in close, get his fucking mouth on tape” – record how Taylor angles his head back while he leans forward so he can push down on Ebs’ cock without it hitting the back of his throat. Ebs must like that because he fists Taylor’s hands in his hair and shoves him back down, forces him to stay there and breathe heavily through his nose, as drool drips out around the tight seal of Taylor's lips.

Taylor digs his nails into Ebs’ thighs, feels the muscles bunch and release under his palms, while someone in the background calls out dispassionately that this should be one of the stills on the back of the DVD cover.

“You take it, baby. Come on. Show me how much you love my cock,” Ebs whispers and that’s what Taylor tries to focus on, what he plays to drown out the sounds of everyone else that watches him take Ebs down his throat.

Ebs lets him pull off and Taylor gasps for breath, slurps the spit back into his mouth, licks up any dangling strands before he dives back, folds his lips over his teeth and sucks hard on the head of Ebs’ dick. Taylor gets a hand round so he can jerk himself, and he can feel how wet he is, how obvious it is to everyone how he’s gets off on this. The slide of his hand is so easy, so slick and his thigh is soaked with little dribbles that his dick spits out. Taylor’s so ready to be fucked _now please, now, now_.

Taylor’s mouth is sore by the time the call comes to switch it up. Ebs pulls him back up onto the sofa to straddle his lap so he can touch the sore edges of Taylor’s mouth where Taylor can still feel the stretch of taking Ebs’ dick for so long. Taylor ignores the ache and opens his mouth to suck Ebs’s fingers, nudges at the webbing between them with the tip of his tongue. Ebs’ pupils are huge, and he pulls his fingers free, wipes the spit on them back onto Taylor’s lips, lines the open O of them.

He rubs gently for a couple of seconds before he pushes Taylor’s lower lip down and grins, whispers "good" like Taylor's _earned_ the ache he feels swelling his mouth. Ebs puts the same fingers he’s been tracing round and around Taylor’s mouth down to his ass and starts circling Taylor’s rim, like a mirror of before. Taylor arches into it – “yes, yeah, uh, do it” – he can’t help how the thought of it makes him squeeze his eyes shut so he can’t see everyone watch him push down onto Ebs’ fingers, can’t hear the whirr of the camera lens going in for a close up.

Maybe Taylor's rapidly coming to some conclusions about why he might have been nervous about doing hardcore porn. And maybe it's less to do with nudity and more to do with how much the thought of letting everyone see how much he loves getting fucked turns him on and freaks him out. How everyone can watch how happy he is to play the slut, how everyone will _know_. 

But he's getting over that because it feels so good. Ebs is right here, grinning while he teases at Taylor's rim. Taylor groans as Ebs just pushes his fingers in and out of his hole, like he's taunting Taylor, the whole crew watching, _the camera watching_ that tiny in-and-out fuck. Taylor's so, so ready to be fucked, pushes back, begs unashamedly "please, give it to me, please, please, put it in me, yeah" like he can't say anything else - and _wow_ , yeah, it's a good thing they don't have a script – cause he’d promise Ebs anything to put his dick in him.

Ebs holds him down, teases him by taking his fingers away from even the slightest push into his hole. He calls Taylor greedy and desperate, tells him that he knows what Taylor needs right before he scratches a nail against Taylor's rim and it's not enough, it's too much, Taylor needs, Taylor needs –

"Fuck him," comes the order, the voice calm and bland like this is all nothing - and Ebs is there, pushes into him and Taylor cries out because it's a lot. Ebs is big and the stretch is more than he’s prepped for. But it's good, Ebs slams his cock into him hard, again and again, and suddenly he's coming. He's spurts down into the couch cushions before Ebs pulls him up, lets the camera see him pulse out whatever's left.

Ebs’ "yeah, that's my boy" sounds almost like a taunt. His hands clench tight on Taylor’s hips before he pulls out and flips Taylor over. Ebs yanks off the condom and starts stripping his cock rapidly, going for the money shot. And Taylor doesn't see it happen, keeps his eyes shut even when he feels the wetness hit his face, slide down. Taylor doesn’t need to see this to know what he looks like with his mouth open, red and swollen, chin tipped forward like he wants more.

Then Eakins’ screams “Cut” and Taylor can hear people start to move about as they gather things and wrap up. But his eyes are still wet and covered over, so it’s dark and safe. He's exhausted, sticky, and Ebs’ body is warm where it holds Taylor down. Taylor can feel his breath, feel Ebs' come-sticky cock as it presses into his stomach when he finally leans over to whisper into Taylor’s ear like a promise, “You loved that, didn't you? Such a pretty slut for it. We’re gonna make millions together, babe. Fucking millions.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as the product of a shameful attempt to make some sort of Oilers lube joke that then degenerated into a pornstars twitterfic? I don't know, logic isn't really applicable here. Bad life decisions abound. 
> 
> Title from Aerosmith's Crazy.
> 
> All blame lies with zorana. She is pure evil.


End file.
